


Masked

by wucina



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, also sometimes one of those drunks is wearing an elaborate suit disguise, it's fine don't ask questions, lucina is an endless source of question marks instead of a gender, robin is trans, sometimes you shove two drunks with gender probs into a bathroom to have them fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wucina/pseuds/wucina
Summary: “Excuse me, madame.”She turns around, expecting to have to reject another sixty year old with really bad opinions on her gender identity, but instead she finds one of the strangest folks she’s ever seen in this bar, which is saying something. A fanciful dark blue tuxedo, complete with a black bow, short azure hair styled slightly to one side, and a pair of white leather gloves–and also, an entire butterfly mask covering everything from the nose up, dark and elegant with golden accents lining the borders. Why the hell someone looking this top-notch in disguise is at the cheapest bar in town, she has no clue, but she’ll still concede that it works incredibly well to catch her eye.Robin tries to act neutral, pretending she isn’t internally panicking over whether or not there’s any visible parts of her face she missed shaving that morning. “Hm?”Robin goes to a bar to drink her sorrows away, and instead finds a stranger worth talking to.
Relationships: Lucina/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	Masked

**Author's Note:**

> extremely mild cw for mentions of abuse, but it's limited to like three or four separate sentences in this [checks notes] nearly 4.6k word fic that i originally made to be a really short raunch zone

Whenever Robin steps into the musty confines of the Outrealm Gates, the first thing she notes is how she’s allowed to think cognitively again.

It’s a miserable location they put this bar in, between a dozen of the loudest streetlamps she’d ever go near, both in terms of the sensory headache she gets looking up at the pure white lighting and the actual loud whirring noise they confusingly make. Of course, it’s also the only gay-coded locale you can get to in this city that isn’t in a gentrified neighborhood, a fact most notable in how the walls aren’t colored specifically to sear her eyes off and how the music choices are tolerable instead of gaudy. They even play at the perfect level of loudness, not so much where it’s impossible to hear anyone, but enough to where you can’t hear whatever raunchy shit the people five seats over are saying, and it makes it easy to drown everything out.

Drowning everything out, naturally, is something she desperately needs. College life happened to be even sadder than she originally anticipated; while she knew there was going to be a lot of stress over finishing everything on time, she was at least expecting getting something resembling friends there. That’s what schools are for, right? But nope, she’s two months in, and no other student wants to positively associate with her. The only one who even talks to her regularly is the literature class teacher’s kid, and while she’s nice and all, last time they tried talking it just ended with accusations of…

 _Eugh._ No thinking about that, Robin, she needs to be a happy drunk tonight. Honestly, even considering the possibility that she’d sleep with a man at all makes her nauseous. Not like she doesn’t get it, of course; knowing how everyone seems to judge her, they probably think she’s the same age as that old man, too.

She’s always looked like a horrendous wreck, with dark circles under her eyes, naturally-silver hair that already looks grayed out and a body that feels like it’s big enough to be everywhere that can be anywhere. She’s been trying her best since transitioning, taking actual care of her hair for the first time in her life and keeping it in a loose, wavy ponytail, propping up a skincare routine with daily sunscreen and moisturizer, and even putting on makeup when she has the time, but when you’re a six-foot-something giant with hunched shoulders and the fashion sense of a 1970’s mother, it doesn’t really matter if you’re actually twenty one, everyone thinks you’re forty anyways. It’s something she’s always acutely aware of, because everyone constantly whispers about it near her, putting her into a dysphoria-induced panic and dissassociating out half the school day in the process.

Fuck, at least it means nobody asks many questions here. She’s just another old hag in a room full of old hags, something that lets her easily hide in the bar without anyone to bother her.

Robin sets herself on a stool, way at the furthest end of the bar so she at least has a wall she can stare into a few hours from now. When you become a regular, there’s a rule here that you don’t really ask the bartender directly for anything; the usual guy behind the counter is Kellam, notorious for his ability to get you your order without you even noticing he showed up, and he tends to prefer people just yell out what they want.

“Irish Mule, biggest glass you got.”

There’s a faint _mhm_ from the direction of the sinks confirming the request, and thank god, she no longer has to say another word for the rest of the night. At this point, she doesn’t even know if she necessarily enjoys the Irish Mule, she just knows that ginger ale taste good enough mixed into whiskey, and that she wants the booze to blank out anything that might resemble conscious thinking. She looks away for a second before realizing her drink’s already in front of her, complete with a slice of lime pushed into the edge of the cup, and without thinking twice she starts chugging.

She doesn’t know why she comes here, honestly. At first, it was just because she heard that this was a regular hookup spot and she was desperate for skinship, but then one bad fling went to two, which went to four, which went to eight, which then went to horrifying things that she’s told nobody about and would very much like to continue to tell nobody about, _thank you very much_. Maybe it’s so she can talk with someone, but then she hates half the people here who try, women twice her age talking like she’s either just like them or so polar opposite of them that she shouldn’t be allowed in here, and then the dysphoria kicks in again and she has to run home to cry for the rest of the night.

Probably, she’s just here because it’d be really fucking sad to drink alone with nobody else around to validate her. That’s a fun thought, zero pangs of depression to come from that.

“Excuse me, madame.”

She turns around, expecting to have to reject another sixty year old with really bad opinions on her gender identity, but instead she finds one of the strangest folks she’s ever seen in this bar, which is saying something. A fanciful dark blue tuxedo, complete with a black bow, short azure hair styled slightly to one side, and a pair of white leather gloves–and also, an entire butterfly mask covering everything from the nose up, dark and elegant with golden accents lining the borders. Why the hell someone looking this top-notch in disguise is at the cheapest bar in town, she has no clue, but she’ll still concede that it works incredibly well to catch her eye.

Robin tries to act neutral, pretending she isn’t internally panicking over whether or not there’s any visible parts of her face she missed shaving that morning. “Hm?”

“I was told that this bar has a unique way of ordering, but the women over there weren’t willing to elaborate.” The voice behind the mask is extremely polite, mildly gesturing their head towards a group of grandma-types on the opposite side of the room. “Would you know what they would be referring to?”

“God, buncha clique girls.” She groans, knowing exactly the kind of people the stranger is referring to. “I’ll set it up for you, just get your ID ready for the guy.”

Robin leans over the bar, looking extra close to catch the bartender in the middle of mixing someone’s whiskey.

“Kellam!” She bellows more directly, since she’s saying something other than a kind of booze. “There’s someone new here, check their age.”

The man seemingly floats on over, not making even a step for how fast he moves, and quickly takes the masked person’s card, glancing for a moment, before handing it back and nodding.

“Um. One shot of, er… vodka, if you would, sir.”

Another nod, and he disappears off to pour a drink out.

“Huh, didn’t take someone who looked like that for being into straight vodka.” Robin leans back forward, taking another gulp of her ale.

“I, erm, couldn’t think of anything else.” The stranger scratches at the back of their neck. “It doesn’t taste too bad, does it?”

“You literally picked the one you’re supposed to mix with other drinks.”

Robin can’t see behind the mask, but with the way their mouth’s contorted, she’s pretty sure their eyes just widened in shock.

“Off you go, then.” Kellam rematerialises like the weird ghost-man he is, with a clear liquid in a medium sized cup. Obviously trying to look cool, the stranger attempts a sip and immediately winces, causing a cackle to unintentionally pass Robin’s lips.

“You know what, lemme help you out.” Robin steels herself from laughing too hard to take her drink and mix it with the vodka, squeezing out the rest of the lime and handing it over to the stranger, before leaning over the bar again to call for a refill.

The masked person takes a sip of the new drink, smiling in surprise at the taste. “Oh, this is quite nice! Um, I thank you kindly.”

“Don’t mention it, I wouldn’t let anyone suffer like that.” She turns closer, realizing there’s someone here she actually wants to talk to for a change. “Though I gotta ask about the mask and all–is there some anime convention happening I didn’t know of?”

“Erm, no, I just need to hide myself.” The stranger coughs into their hand. “It’s important nobody knows I come here… though I suppose I should have dressed in something far less formal if I wanted to blend in.”

“Yeah, no, this place is kind of a trash factory.” Robin starts to drawl slightly, meaning the alcohol must be beginning to kick in. “S’a good look, though, gotta say.”

“Oh.” The stranger looks away, and while it might be the booze talking, she swore she saw blushing on their cheeks. “Thank you.”

Robin takes a closer look at them, another filled mug in her hand and her inability to stop staring getting stronger the further along the booze kicks in, and god, everything about their fashion sense is powerful. They even have a matching shoulder bag with a colorful ensemble of pretty looking pins ( _with a lesbian flag among them_ , she sighs in excitement) that somehow doesn’t manage to clash with the expensive suit. Compared to the loser sitting next to them, in a pair of trackpants she calls tights due to barely fitting in them, a shitty graphic tanktop, a cardigan she should’ve donated off a year ago and a “comfort bra” she’s pretty sure is a cup size too small, they look like a fucking dream.

Maybe she should’ve done better than whatever clean clothes she had at home, she thinks, but it’s too late for that now. Least she can do is try and keep a lid on her self-control for long enough to act cool.

“So, what is it exactly that people do here?”

“Get sad and shitfaced.” Wow, Robin, couldn’t even get through a single sentence without breaking the competency barrier, fantastic work. “I mean, uh, presumably some of these people can get fulfilling dates here, but mostly it’s lonely gays attempting to socialize with other lonely gays.”

“I see.” Their voice faints a little bit, possibly in disappointment. “Is it mostly people this old as well?”

“Mhm, everyone young usually just gets run off by the old creeps who regular here.”

“A shame.” The stranger frowns. “I worry for the poor souls who deal with them.”

“Yeah…”

Robin looks down, taking all of her willpower to not pick at certain scars on her body again.

“Yeah, they aren’t good people.”

“Hm.” They take another sip from their cup, looking off. “I… suppose it’s good you were the first one willing to talk with me, then.”

“E-eh?” She stammers, trying her best not to take that as a compliment. “What’re you meaning by that?”

“You look to be much younger than most around here.” The stranger glances over with a grin. “And you’ve been kind thus far, which I appreciate.”

“Oh!” Ahhh god damnit she’s blushing now. “I-I mean, I’m usually just seen as another oldie around here.”

“They must not be looking very close at your beauty, if that’s the case.” They smile again, a soft and genuine smile if she’s ever seen one, and she freezes up, realizing that for all the shit she’s heard in this bar, nobody’s ever actually complimented her here before. The only other time outside of this bar she could possibly think of would’ve been–

_Fucking Lucina._

The stranger looks suddenly shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh shit.” Robin’s eyes widen. “I, uh, said that out loud, didn’t I.”

The stranger nods, still noticably worried.

“S-sorry, just…” She sighs loudly, depression filter having pretty much been long past shattered. “Well, uh, not exactly wanting to drink my heart out in here because I’m really happy about some people in my life, s’put it that way.”

“I-I see.” They’re trying to compose themselves back to looking stoic, but still seems jostled, making her wonder if she accidentally screamed it out loud more than anything. “Did something happen?”

“I mean, yeah, but I really shouldn’t be pestering you about this.” Robin droops her head to the counter. “I’m just some lady you’ve never met.”

“Well, how about this.” They sit up straight and smile again, and how easily it calms her nerves is almost insulting. “You’re effectively paying for my drink right now, correct? Consider this me repaying you.”

Several hours before this, Robin was prepared to try and get a healthy date with someone actually around her age. _Lucina Von Aether_ , a girl that evokes the exact kind of stereotypical lovey dovey feeling as her Disney-channel-love-interest-ass name would imply, with long blue hair, much longer than the sad sap listening to her right now, and beady aqua eyes that makes her chest immediately skip every time they accidentally make eye contact. She’s kind, and she’s funny, and she’s always listening to people closely like someone who sincerely gives a shit, and there’s rumors of one time she knocked a transphobe the fuck out for trying to out someone else in the school and now that she thinks about it hearing that was absolutely the thing that kicked off all of this.

Robin’s a coward lesbian who has no idea how to approach women without becoming a stuttering mess, but Lucina’s the daughter of the old literature teacher, and wouldn’t you know it, Robin also happens to be doing godawful at her literature class, so she coincidentally needed to be tutored by the one man who would know the most about the girl she has a crush on. It’s a good thing she didn’t explicitly bring up his own daughter when they talked, because that would be creepy, and that’s the last thing she’d want to be.

No, of course she didn’t, _her teacher started talking about her completely umprompted instead_. Did he know about her crush and was trying to help? Is this what his definition of helping was? Like, this is a 43-year-old man who needed to be explained by his own class how to peel an orange once so maybe he’s just this much of an unaware dipshit, but oh god it was like Lady Luck herself decided that this yearning train wasn’t losing speed until it crashed directly into a mountain.

She learns about how Lucina was a track and field runner, and how she used to try and run with fifteen kilograms of books in a backpack as practice (and Robin absolutely did not salivate thinking about how jacked she must be what are you talking about), and how she’s been going to school to try and get a career as a teacher like her father, and how she’s been volunteering at a local homeless shelter and is a tenant rights activist and has been trying to do local canvassing to push for a law that would allow for stricter rent control and Jesus fucking Christ she’s a landlord-hating transphobe-fighting butch with muscles, this is Robin bait at its finest.

Except then she kept listening to the teacher about her. And kept listening, and listening, and listening, day after day after day, and by the time she stopped being a spineless wreck to talk to this woman, talking to the teacher became the only thing she was known for. And oh, cool, guess Robin must’ve been a massive idiot for even thinking she ever had a chance, because now she thinks she’s fucking the teacher! Because of course Lucina would think that, never mind that Robin’s the younger one, she’s _old_ and _ugly_ and of course the only people who want her would be other old people, of course she’s too terrified to even slightly mention that she’s a lesbian because trans women aren’t supposed to just _say_ that or else people will treat them like predators and creeps and she doesn’t even know what her teacher’s first fucking name even _is_ for that matter–

“Hey.” The stranger keeps patting her on the back, shaking her out of it. “Hey, c’mon, breathe with me.”

“I’m so–” Robin hics audibly, having finished either her third or fourth cup by the time she finished ranting, not like she wants to remember. “I’m so fucking terrible.”

“No, you aren’t, alright?”

“I am!” Robin startles herself with her loudness. “I’m a monster! Nobody in that school would ever want to be with me, that’s why the only people I can ever be with are all twice my age and they try and hurt me and make me too scared to ever let anyone see my body and–”

And then she feels a hand touching her face, and suddenly her mind blanks.

It’s warm. Soft. Their thumb keeps brushing at her cheek, and fingers keep playing with her hair. Robin feels like she should maybe be thinking more with how anxious she was only seconds before, but then she feels pressure near her ear as the hand starts to explore, and any attempt at that shuts down without effort, their index finger scritching at the back of her neck causing her to make noises that she maybe shouldn’t be making in the middle of a public area.

She squints her eyes back open, seeing that the masked stranger is blushing wildly, trying to form words.

“…C-can I kiss you?”

This is really dangerous.

  


* * *

  


Slamming the single-stall bathroom door shut behind them, the stranger’s hands still clinging onto hers, Robin quickly locks the door into an occupied position, getting maybe three seconds into being there before they pull her next to the counter and a thigh is pressed between her legs.

She almost wants to note how comical the size difference is, because even if they’re fairly tall by usual standards, she still has about a half-foot over them, but then they lift her effortlessly onto the counter and lean in, and any thought on that is replaced with _holy hell they’re strong_ followed swiftly by a kiss making her mind hazy and desperate, only getting heavier when the teeth grazing the bottom of her lips forces a whine from her throat.

The stranger pulls away after, face entirely crimson red but not budging in how they hold her. “Are you sure this is alright?”

“It’s f-fine.” Robin’s pretty sure she’s being delirious and imagining things up at this point but god damn it she doesn’t care. “Staff kicks couples here when they’re handsy anyways.”

Their expression is blank, and she’s pretty sure they’re looking way too closely at her face. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“I-isn’t it obvious?” She tries to press harder into them, except their grip on her is as iron as it gets and unfortunately for her the sheer futility of it is just making her hotter.

“Humor me for a moment?” Oh god their voice is getting husky.

“You little shit.” She almost spits it out in frustration, realizing what they’re doing and knowing she has to play along. “Please.”

“Please what?” Ohhhh god oh god oh god they’re purring right into her ear and it’s making her lose all willpower.

“I-I need you.” Robin’s whimpering hard, failing to wriggle her shoulders out of their arms, her hips fruitlessly squirming underneath. “Fuck, okay, fine, I need you to touch me, everywhere, _please_ –”

They pull her right back in with a kiss, deep enough for even her loud moaning to be barely audible, with their hands starting to explore at her side, a thumb brushing down the bone of their hip making her shudder. When their fingers push into her inner thigh and she nearly claws off their suit trying to hold on, they _growl_ into her jaw and god damn it if it doesn’t light her up in every way possible.

A hand goes under Robin’s shirt, the coolness of the glove immediately making her skin react, as their other hand inches towards her crotch, their thumb apparently destined to cause every noise it can possibly draw from her lips. The last non-horny brain cell left is still expecting them to realize there’s no cis girl here and leave, an anxiety that is disproven when she feels that same thumb press right into a certain wet spot. They glance down, seeing the bulge in her pants, and when she sees their smile widen in response it sends shivers down her spine.

“Oh.” They speak in a delighted shock, feeling her twitch at the slightest touch. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Not–” She doesn’t even get to say another word before she suddenly feels them pushing directly into the tip, forcing gritted teeth. “Not… my fault…”

“Of course not.” They press again, nearly giggling at how much the girl under them is squirming, and considering there’s a mask in the way it sure does feel like they’re staring into her with the lust of a madman. “Suppose I should take responsibility, then.”

Robin tries turning her head away in embarrassment, but whoever this stranger is sure isn’t in the mood for patience because she doesn’t even get halfway there before her shirt is pulled up and she feels their forehead under her collarbone, like she isn’t even granted any time to feel shame before they already have something else to do. It’s overwhelming, feeling their mouth ghost her nipple and feeling a thumb right at her lips when she gasps in response and hearing their heavy breathing when they notice Robin’s eyes glazing over and oh Jesus Christ when did that hand get under her pants–

And then they squeeze, and that last brain cell calls it quits for the night as her entire spine curls up in shock.

_L-Luci–_

The stranger stops dead in their tracks.

“I mean.” Oh shit, what did Robin just do saying her crush out loud like that. “I. Uh. Look, sorry if I made this…”

She almost considers immediately running away, even if it means awkwardly having to pull away from the very stimulating hand currently holding onto an extremely fragile part of her body, but instead she hears laughing.

“So.” They take a hand away from her mouth, and slip off the mask, revealing a certain someone from her college. “Was my disguise really that poor?”

Robin is absolutely dreaming this.

There’s no way that she isn’t, like, passed out in a corner of the bar, or something. She’s definitely not looking into the eyes of her crush. She is definitely, absolutely, positively not staring into the beautiful, calming, loving eyes of Lucina.

Lucina’s hand goes right back to her face, thumb held up to her cheek. “Can I still…?”

God, who even cares if this is real or not anymore.

“Please don’t make me beg again.”

No extra time is spent waiting when they pin her hard to the counter, and if Robin thought they were hungry with their kisses before, they’ve gotten downright _carnivorous_ now, gripping hard into her hair and teeth sinking into her lips, her eyes getting blurrier and her head unable to form any thought outside of knowing this feels so right. She’s pretty sure they have to be straddling her by now, but at this point she’s not even cognisant enough to fully know her surroundings, every sensation just replaced with the feeling of Lucina, in her thighs and on her chest and at her throat and she’s not even sure when they started grinding into each other or when both of their pants were tossed to the ground, but none of that matters next to this.

She has no idea how long they’re together, the whole thing melting into a fuzzy puddle of nails digging into one another, hearing praise and her name, over and over again, until she feels their back arching heavily and they jolt and twitch, and while she’s pretty sure that’s the thing that happens when you’ve done something extremely exhausting, apparently they’re made of pure fucking steel because they _start grinding down harder_ , making it so she can’t even say a coherent sentence, crying out in pleas and broken syllables where the word ‘love’ would be, and when Robin finally cracks, pressure building enough for her to overflow, their hand quickly covers her mouth up, turning her screams into muffled sounds of bliss, before they both finally collapse into the counter for good, and her consciousness starts to fade.

“You…” Their eyes stare right into hers, foreheads touching. “Are so beautiful, Robin.”

 _Jesus,_ she thinks to herself, closing her eyes as her hair is gently stroked. _I’m gonna be really embarrassed when I wake up from this._

  


* * *

  


Sitting down at her desk in literature class, Robin immediately plops her head down on its surface.

“Huh.” Mr. Aether, unreasonably attentive jerk he is, notices her right away. “Something happen over the weekend?”

“I might’ve made sure I never want to drink again.”

Her teacher glanced at her worriedly, but quickly breaks into laughter.

“Hey.” She starts half-pouting, not even really having the willpower to go for it properly. “I’m being serious.”

“Of course you are, I suppose I just never took you for the type to go all out the same year you hit drinking age.” He’s still snickering, the fucker. “So long as you haven’t, say, committed theft or anything, you’ll be fine. You’ll just need some extra water and rest.”

_Depending on who I actually did, you of all people should not be saying that._

“…What was that?”

“Uh, nothing.” Please stop muttering shit out loud Robin, for fuck’s sake.

So, according to what her little brother, Morgan, was told upon some kind soul hauling her ass back home via taxi, here’s what happened: Robin got drunk. Robin got very, very sad while drunk. Robin forgot to stop drinking, and then Robin got woozy, and then Robin tripped directly into the corner of a bar like a complete dipshit, causing a bruise on her torso. As the kind stranger brought her into the house, Robin also kept slurring out things about her crush while nearly passed out, which, cool, she apparently never has a filter on that shit at any point, even when she’s asleep.

Did she imagine Lucina there? Did she actually fuck that stranger and hit her head at some point mid-grope, or something? How much of the bar did she even dream up or not? She has no idea, and that thought kinda terrifies her, because for all she knows she’ll always be in the dark about what happened that night. If nothing else, she’ll always remember this headache, because fucking hell it is not wanting to go away.

It’ll be fine, though, probably. It’s like the old man said, she just needs to drink more water, and given the whole difference in hair styles that stranger and Lucina had, it’s not like the truth wouldn’t be obvious the moment that–

“Luci, what did you do to your hair!?”

The moment… that Lucina walked into the class… with short azure hair, styled slightly to one side. Their eyes meet up for a second, immediately disconnecting when both their faces turn beet red, and Robin is quick to hide her face in her arms.

What the fuck is happening.


End file.
